Migration
by the morrighan
Summary: Following behavioral patterns can lead to trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Migration

Purple.

The color filled John Sheppard's line of vision. A pulsing, ever-changing purple. Morphing into all hues of the color, from delicate lilacs, to lavenders, to rich amethyst tones. To a royal purple and then to a periwinkle, a blue-violet hue that was beautiful, mysterious. Then back again. The colors swirled in front of his eyes, the purples reminding him of his wife's sexier lingerie. He quirked a smile, but blinked. Looked away from the colored lights that were strung up along the wall, over the impromptu bar where a crowd was raucously celebrating.

He all but collapsed in a chair, waved his arms to shoo the women off him. He downed his glass of Scotch, looked around blearily. The party was still going strong. Had morphed at midnight from a survival celebration to his bachelor party. The air was thick with smoke, beer, Scotch, Vodka, even some Athosian specialities that had some men already under the table. Music blared. Laughter was rude, loud. Everyone was enjoying themselves, letting go, relaxing. Drunken singing could be heard, an awful off-key caterwauling so bad John could not even identify the song.

A few women were dancing on the tables. Shimmering in sparkling clothes that were barely there. John shook his head, peered round past the mostly male crowd to locate his friends. Carson Beckett was laughing, an ever-present pint of Guinness in his hand as he regaled a crowd with a story. His Scottish accent thicker, more pronounced as it carried across the other voices. Evan Lorne was engaged in a very intimate dance with a long-legged blond woman. Ronon Dex was drinking heartily, then slammed his mug down to engage in an arm-wrestling contest with a beefy marine. Both men struggled, then fell over onto the floor. Laughing heartily. Rodney McKay was directing people like a room monitor. Pointing, gesticulating as more food was brought to display on a long table. More booze. He had a beer in one hand, a handful of popcorn in the other, all the while talking, ordering, haranguing. Thoroughly enjoying himself.

John swayed in the chair. He burped. Tasted Scotch, beer, cigar, pizza, God knew what else. He could imagine his wife's reaction. Her distaste, wrinkling her nose in that cute way he loved. He sighed. Wished he had been able to convince her to attend, but she had steadfastly refused. Had insisted she was engaged in some very important research, was on the verge of a discovery. Had all but shoved him out of their rooms and ordered him to enjoy himself. He checked his watch. The numbers blurred, then resolved into oh three hundred. Three in the morning. Moira was probably snuggled in bed, asleep. Suddenly he wished he was with her. A fierce longing making him try to stand.

But a scantily clad woman plopped onto his lap, trapping him. She was raven-haired. Curvaceous. Breasts all but bouncing out of her sequined top. Sequined skirt riding up her bare thighs like an invitation. She giggled, smiled. Slid her arms around his neck to pull his mouth into a kiss. She began to gyrate aggressively on his lap. "Ooh, bachelor boy Colonel Sheppard," she teased, "I will make sure you enjoy your last night of freedom."

"That's...um, okay. Really." He tried to extricate himself but his alcoholic buzz dulled, blurred his senses.

The woman laughed. Planted a kiss on his cheek. "Ooh, bachelor boy, I can feel it now! Can you?"

"Um, no, actually. Look, there's a rule for no strippershers," he slurred, blinking. Bleary from the wild cacophony around him.

"I'll strip for you, handsome. Oh! Look, I started!" She giggled, lifted to show an almost non-existent G-string. The dark triangle of hair starting to slime his pants. She ground into him, slithering along his crotch and thigh. Large rear bouncing, shoving.

He scowled. Caught her arms and freed himself. "Stop! You've got the wrong guy, doll! See?"

He displayed his left hand where the gold wedding band gleamed in the colored lights. "Over there! That's bachelor boy!" He pointed to Rodney who was wolfing down popcorn. Kernels were spilling down the front of his black woven shirt.

"Him? Are you sure? He told me it was you, honey," she insisted, gyrating on him again. "And frankly, handsome, I would prefer you." She was becoming more aroused. The friction of their bodies, their clothes. Having this gorgeous man at her disposal. Her desire.

"Oh he did, did he? Well, he's shy. Real shy." He forcibly shoved her to her feet. "He's the man of the hour, not me. So go dazzle him."

She pouted. "Are you sure, honey? 'Cause I'd do whatever you wanted. Anything."

"Then go! Give him the best fucking lap dance of his life!" John watched her saunter towards Rodney. Her hips swaying in the silver sequined skirt. Lights glimmered on it, making him dizzy. He snorted a laugh as the woman startled Rodney. The physicist dropped the popcorn, almost yelping. John laughed heartily at his friend's expression. Wasn't sure if he was more surprised at the woman sliding along him now or more upset at the loss of his popcorn.

He looked round, attempting to locate the doors. The egress point. Plot his escape. He spied Jason Reynolds drinking with a few other marines, at the same time locked in some sort of balancing contest as they stacked up empty bottles one by one. Shouted their hilarity when the tower fell. Glass crashing, smashing to pieces. Rodney's protest snarled by the woman kissing him, grabbing him into a dance. Aaron Josephes was slumped over a table, passed out from the alcoholic excess. John laughed at the sight of the younger man. Pieces of pepperoni stuck in his brown hair.

Another smash. John looked over to see Ronon and the beefy marine sprawled amidst the ruins of a table. Both laughing heartily. John rued the morning when Elizabeth Weir would see the destruction the party had caused.

John stood. Swayed. Looked down at his feet to make sure they were both level on the increasingly unstable floor. He looked up, locating the doors again. Strangely they had seemed to move. Saw another woman approaching. Dodged her and headed for the doors. Nearly fell when a hand grabbed his arm. "I said no! Won't you damn women ever leave me alone? You...oh...Carshon."

"What a terrible burden, John, to have beautiful women constantly throwing themselves at you," Carson teased. "Going so soon, colonel? It is your party, after all."

John blinked. He knew that the doctor had drunk as much as he had, as much as they all had, but he sounded stone cold sober. Only the thicker accent betrayed his indulgence. "A party I never wanted, if you would recall. I'm tired, Carshon, tired of all this noise and women and bouncing, bouncing breasts."

Carson laughed. "Aye, what man would want to see all those bouncing breasts? You are plastered, John. Here, let me help you to your room before you fall down."

"No! I can walk justh fine!" He swayed, leaned on Carson as the doctor directed him. "Shit. Carshon, where are we? Level two?"

"Four."

"Southeast pier?" John guessed.

"Northwest. Here we go, colonel. It was a good party, wasn't it?" he asked, leading the drunken man out of the rooms and down the hallways. They entered a transporter, emerged into another hallway. It was dark, silent. Lights softly glimmered every few feet.

The shadows and the quiet were a soothing tonic. John smiled. "Yeah, it's a great party but I want Moira. She wouldn't go. Said she's all sciency and couldn't go party me. She's mine, you know. She loves me."

"Yes, John, she does," Carson agreed, amused.

"Only me. The me not other me. I married her, Carshon."

"Yes, John, I know."

"Married me she married me. Loves me. Wants me. She wouldn't go party. My Moira's shy with all those wild people. Sciency...said she's got a verge discovery on science proteins and the with...the wuth...the wroth...the–"

"Wraith," Carson helpfully supplied. "Interesting. I shall have to ask her about it tomorrow. Er, later today, I guess. Here we are. Straight down this corridor to the last room on the–"

"I know! Go!" John disengaged himself, leaned against the wall. "Go back to the party. I'll be fine. Find Moira Shep...Slep...Shepshards...so go."

"All right, John. Straight down there. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight Becketts."

John wove down the hallway, following after the doctor but stopped. Lost. Realized his mistake and snorted a laugh. He turned, headed back the way Carson had indicated. Staggering along, step by step as the floor swayed under his shoes. He stopped. Blinked. "All the doors look alike," he complained, weaving down the hallway as if he was on a slalom course. He put a hand out to steady himself. A panel glowed. A door opened. He stared, staggered back to the opposite wall. "Wow! That wash cool!" He stepped to the open door, peered into it, wondering if that was his room. "Moira?" he called. He staggered backwards, nearly fell, tripping over his own feet when someone grabbed his arm. "Hey, Carshons! I told you go back to party I can find my own rooms."

Susan Williams smiled. Pressed her ample breasts to his arm. The V-neck t-shirt dipped low to give him an entirely clear view straight down to her large nipples. "John, let me help you," she purred. "You shouldn't have left your own party, honey." She drew him from the doorway, pushed him against the wall. Ran her hands over his chest, rumpling the pale blue woven shirt he wore. Dislodging a few buttons. Her fingers skidded down to his belt.

"Uh, Shusan...hi. Uh. This ishn't–"

"Did you really want to leave your own bachelor party, John? We were having so much fun! So much..." She kissed him, slid her body against his. Eliciting the desired effect.

"Uh, Shusan, no. I'm married. See?" He held up his right hand. "Oh. Crap. Shee?" He held up his left hand. The wedding ring glimmered in the low lights.

"So? That didn't stop you before, John, despite everything you said, or pretended. Besides, honey, it's your bachelor party. One night to have a final fling. You know you want it." The low lights made her blond hair glimmer. Pink lip gloss gleamed wetly on her mouth.

"I...no! No I don't. I married Moira. Moira Shepshards," he protested, moving but the corridor whirled. The wall at his back felt solid. Secure. Held him upright.

"Oh, honey, not tonight. Let me perform my speciality. What was it called? Oh yes. The Sheppard express. Delivered on time. Always on time." She giggled. Kissed him as she undid his belt. "I will suck you so hard you'll come today and tomorrow. And after that you can take me however you want." She dropped to her knees, undoing his tan pants.

"Uh...huh? No, no, Shusan. I'm with Moira. My Moira. She's love me she's my wife now," he stated, trying to push her away.

"Just for tonight you are unattached, honey. Here we go. It was so good, John, so fucking good," she mourned. Hiccuped. She tugged, yanked his pants down to his ankles. The shorts following after them. "Oh John...oh John..." she purred, grabbing hold to stroke, to tease.

"Oh John," he muttered, smiling. Hearing Moira's voice. Her soft, teasing caresses on him, stroking. Her love and desire arousing him, bringing him hard, fast. Despite his inebriation, his disinclination his cock had no trouble reacting to her bold fingers. Her hot breath. Until he blinked, realizing it wasn't Moira on her knees handling him. "Shit! I shaid no, Shusan. Fuck off!" he snarled, pushing at her but groaned.

She laughed. "No? Since when does John Sheppard say no to having his cock sucked?"

"I...huh? No! Now. I said no, Moira is my–" he groaned as she grabbed his balls. Then his cock and took him into her mouth. Churning, pressing. Sucking hard, so hard on him his body reacted, unable to stop. Wanting to fill that large space. Wanting it tighter, wetter. Wanting it faster, harder. A weary moan escaped his lips.

"Excuse me."


	2. Chapter 2

Migration2

The voice was calm. Polite, even. Susan turned her head, mouth sliding free of John's cock. Saliva trailing across her glossy lips, down her chin. John looked over blearily. Actually blushed. "Moy...oh my God...Moira? Moira!" He hastily shoved Susan backwards so hard she fell onto her butt. He hastily yanked up his shorts, shoving himself into the material awkwardly. Fumbled as he tried to pull up his pants, nearly falling over in the process. "Moira, Moira oh shit oh shit it's not what you think it's not what you you think my not my–"

"John." Moira's voice was still calm. Having been awoken by the door opening, by hearing his drunken, lost voice calling her name she had slipped out of bed to see a woman assaulting him. Clad in her sabertooth tiger pajamas and fuzzy purple socks she hardly appeared menacing. She deftly stepped to John. Stood in front of him as he straightened, scrambling into his pants. He was shocked into momentary sobriety, panic. Guilt a cold wash over his drunken stupor. His stomach twisted sickly.

Moira stood as if protecting him. Glared at the smirking woman sprawled on the floor. One breast popping out of her shirt. Legs sprawled open, the skirt riding up to reveal she had no underwear. "Don't ever touch my husband again. Don't maul him with your filthy hands and don't put your filthy mouth on him. Got it?" she tersely asked. Fingers clenching at her side, missing the feel of a gun in her hand.

"John and I were quite an item once," Susan taunted. Snorting at Moira's appearance.

"I don't care. I don't care if you fucked him black and blue! Keep your hands and your mouth off him! He's my husband now! Got it? Mine!" she snapped bitterly.

"Really? You should have seen him at his party, Moira. Girls all over him, in his lap, on his–"

"No! I told them to fuck off, like I'm telling you!" John objected, stomach churning. He touched Moira's shoulder. "Moira, Moira–"

Moira ignored him. "I'm sure they were. It was his bachelor party. But only you stalked him to our rooms and pushed yourself onto him! John's no longer on the menu, Susan! The playground is closed! Got it? Now fuck off!"

Susan stood. Licked her lips, a deliberate provocation. Moira's hands balled into fists. Only John's hand on her shoulder keeping her in place, keeping her from decking the smug woman in front of them. "I don't think John wants me to do that...well, maybe to him, but not–"

"The last thing he wants is some filthy skank so fuck off!" Moira snapped.

"You bitch! You–" Susan raised her hand.

John stepped in front of Moira, lightning fast. Caught Susan's hand before it struck Moira across the face. "Don't. Touch her and I will forget you are a woman," he warned. Voice low, deadly. Eyes cold as ice. "Now you heard my wife. Fuck off!" He freed her hand.

Susan glared at them. Pulled up her top and sauntered down the hallway, fuming.

John swallowed nervously. Tasted bile in his throat. He slowly turned to Moira. "Um, Moy–"

"Don't." She took his hand, led him into their room.

"Moira, sweetheart, please, please, nothing happened! Nothing happened at the party! I shwear! I shoved those women off me! Nothing would have happened. Nothing with Shusan I shwear! I shwear! Moira, Moira–"

She turned to him. Kissed his cheek, but wrinkled her nose. "I know, John. I trust you. Get cleaned up, would you? And use plenty of mouthwash. You reek! Better yet take a shower. A cold shower. Then come to bed." She gently pushed him towards his room. Turned as he stared, smiled, somewhat relieved. He headed to the bathroom. Feet stumbling.

Moira got into bed. Sighed. Swallowed the shock, the anger, the hurt. Knew in his state he wouldn't really listen or understand. She had to calm his panic, his guilt first. Had to subdue her own emotions.

John lingered in the doorway to their room. Oddly uncertain. Dreading her anger, but more appalled if he had hurt her. If she had lost even a fraction of her trust in him. Her love. He still felt the beer buzz, felt he was floating. Insensate. Thoughts scattering. "Um, Moira?"

She was sitting up in the bed, reading a book. She didn't look up at him, didn't acknowledge him. But patted the space beside her. A silent invitation.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Moved to the bed. Stood, still cautious. "Um, Moira? Are you pissed? You're not upset, I mean, of course you are upset but I don't want to hurt you. Moira?"

"Just peachy, John. I'm not mad at you, but believe me, Rodney is getting an earful later today." She patted the bed again, still not looking at him.

"Um, Moy? I'm sorry?"

"Are you, John? Why? Did you do something you feel you makes an apology necessary?"

He considered carefully, brows furrowing in thought as he stared. She was biting her lower lip, eyes glued to the book in her hands. "Um, no. No. Not a thing, Moy. Not a damn thing. I'd never...I shwear I'd never..."

"All right, then, sweetie."

"Shweetie," he repeated, relieved. "The party? Still going. Still going on the party. I left to be with you. I wanted to be with you. Cuddled in bed with my Moira Shepshards."

"You mean you had enough of the noise, the drinks, the women," she corrected.

"Yeah. But I wanted to be in bed with you, shweethearts. That's you. My shweethearts. To wait and see. You know. You know. Moy? You know? If you're pregnants. Remember?"

"Charming, sweetie."

"Shweetie," he grinned again. Burped. "Shorry. I...Moira? You...no one. No one! No one else touches me but you, baby baby. No one elshe gets my cock but you I shwear."

She smirked, amused despite herself. "Good to know, John."

"I'm sherious, Moira!" He swayed a little as the floor moved under his bare feet. "No one." He began to sing in a loud voice, "_You're having my baby! What a wonderful way to show me how much you love me!"_

"John! Lower your voice! We don't know yet!" she scolded, finally looking at him as she closed her book. Smiled. Water dripped from his hair, his face. He had on a pair of gray running pants. A gray t-shirt with _Star Wars _emblazoned across it. "Damn. I can't resist a Star Wars man. Get in," she invited, patting the mattress.

He smiled. Finally got into the bed. Kissed her. "Minty fresh?" he teased.

"Yes." She sniffed. "Cologne?"

He grinned. "You shaid I reeked. I didn't feel like showering but I washed. I washed, um, everywhere. Wanna see?" He flung the blankets down and began to pull down his pants.

"No, that's all right, John," she soothed, trying not to laugh. He was very serious.

"Are you sure? Okay." He pulled up his pants, pulled the blankets up over them. "Um, um, look, Moira, nothing, nothing would have–"

"I know, John. Go to sleep." She sighed. Opened her book again. Pretended to read while her thoughts, emotions raced. Tangled.

"My Moira." He scooted close to her. Kissed her throat. Took the book from her hands. Moved her onto her back.

"John? I–"

"I love you, Moira." He kissed her. Began to unbutton her top. "I know how we can tell if you are pregnants or not, baby. The girls. The girls will be bigger. Ah..." He opened the top, smiled. Caressed gently. "So beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I'm sherious, Moira," he slurred, "and I should know. I've seen a lot. A lot! A lot of breasts. A lot! And let me tell you, Moira, yours are the most beautiful I've ever sheen on a womans."

"John, you," she began, amused, flustered as he kissed her. Sloppily ran his mouth over each breast.

"Hmm, baby," he lifted his head. "So fucking beautiful, and I should know, Moira. I've seen a lot. A lot! A lot of breasts. A lot!" he repeated with a smile. Serious and sincere.

"So you said, John." She gently pushed him back, closed her top. He kissed her again. Settled half on her.

"It's the not knowing, you know? I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted.

"That makes two of us, John," she agreed softly. Stroked his hair.

"But I want. I want you, Moy. I want you to be pregnants. I want you to have my child. Us. I want you to have my baby. A son. And I want to name him John. John junior, but not my middle name. I hate my middle name. Remember? Remember our wedding vows? I hate my middle name, more than you hate yours. So no middle name...well, you choose. But his first name is John. John junior."

She smiled. "Sweetie, if it's going to be John junior then you have to use your middle name as well."

"Huh? Do I? No. No. New rules. New rules in Pegasus galaxy. Rule number one. No strippershers. Rule number two. I don't need to use my middle name on my son but he can still be John junior. Rule number three. What is rule number three?"

"I have no idea, sweetie? How about you stop getting plastered," she suggested.

"Okay. Good rule, Moira. Oh! Our son. You have to have my son, Moira. You. To be ours. Not of the past, no, but the future. Ours. And you can choose the middle name but not some weird Irish name that I can't pronounce or spell. Okay?"

She smiled. "Okay, John."

"Okay, Moira." He laughed. Sang loudly again, "_You're having my baby! What a wonderful way to show me just how much you love me! You're having my baby! And what a–"_

"John! Ssh! You didn't say anything, did you? We don't even know yet!" she panicked.

"Did I?" he wondered. Lifted his head to meet her gaze. "No. I don't think so." He laughed. "I wouldn't have mentioned that I knocked you up at my bachelor party."

"I hope not!" she muttered.

John kissed her. Sang loudly, "_You're having my baby! What a wonderful–"_

"John!" She covered his mouth with her hand. "Shut up! As much as I love your singing either choose another song or go to sleep!"

He smiled. Moved her hand away but kissed each finger. Grinned. "Moira. My Moira. Moira Shepshards. Oh!" He shifted on her. "Hey, baby, feel like making love?"

"John, will you please just go to–"

"_You're having my baby! What a wonderful way to show me how much you–"_ he burst into song again.

"Enough!" She kissed him. Pushed so they rolled. She nestled on top of him. "Now, colonel, go to sleep. Please."

"Are you shure you don't want shex, Moira?" he asked, arms sliding around her.

"Yes. Sleep."

"Are you shure you don't want lots of sexy shex?"

"Yes, John. You asked already."

"Oh. Shepshards delight?"

"No."

"Double fudge?"

"No."

"Moira, I'll get a condom so you can ride me, ride me hard." He snorted. "_You're having my baby! What a wonderful way to _ouch!" the song ended in a complaint as she hit his side.

"John! Go to sleep, damn it!"

"Shorry. Shorry. Moira, I'm going to feel like hell tomorrow, aren't I?" he mourned, closing his eyes.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, sweetie. Now go to sleep."

John sighed. "Crap," he muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Migration3

John woke. Found himself sprawled on his stomach under the covers. He rolled onto his back. Wiped the drool off his chin. Sat too quickly. Regretted it as a wave of nausea hit. The room spun. Straightened. His head pounded. He groaned at the taste in his mouth. Finally saw Moira sitting at the table. Freshly showered, clad in a black long-sleeved t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Very severe. He watched her comb her long, brown hair. Each stroke of the comb soothing, yet arousing although he felt like hell. He watched her gather the lustrous strands into an efficient ponytail. "Moira?" he croaked. His voice barely recognizable.

Moira looked at him. Expression neutral. "Oh? Awake and alive, are we?"

"Barely," he noted. Attempted to smile. She looked at the table. "Um, sweetheart? Did we? Did we, um, did we have sex last night?"

"You don't remember?"she taunted.

"I don't remember much of anything yet."

"No. You were too inebriated."

"Oh. Are you sure? I mean," he added hastily as she glared at him, "of course you are sure! It's just that I seem to recall you going down on me in the–"

"Hallway? No, John, that wasn't me." She stood. "It wasn't my mouth taking your very erect cock. It was hers. Her fucking mouth on your naked cock! To be fair you weren't sober, and didn't want to do it, but you did enjoy it! I know it's a physical reaction you can't quite control but you didn't have to enjoy it!" Each word strong, sharp, cutting like a knife.

"I–"

"Good move, there, John, having one of your four fucking ex-lovers at your bachelor party! Not only one of them but the one you fucked when you conveniently forgot me! No, she fucked you, right, that's what you said! And he fucked her as well, your alternate version! What is about that slut that you can't keep your fucking cocks out of her? Either of you?"

"I didn't! I didn't–" he tried, deciding he was safer on the bed, taking the full brunt of her anger. Accepting it. But he saw the glint of tears in her brown eyes and bitterly blamed himself.

"That's probably true. You probably didn't invite her. Even Rodney probably had no idea either. Who left you to wander the hallways by yourself?"

"I didn't! I...Carson. I made him go back to the party. I was on my way to you when–"

"I see. Okay. Poor John. I guess I should have assigned you a chaperone. You are too fucking gorgeous for your own good, colonel!" She strode to the door.

"Moira! Wait! Please!"

"I'm not mad at you, John."

"Oh?" He raised a brow. "Well, good. I'd hate to see you mad at me if this isn't it. Moira, I–"

"Save it, flyboy!" She left.

John sighed. Fell onto his back. Head throbbing. "Way to go, John!" he berated himself. "Just piss off the possibly pregnant wife. Crap!" He closed his eyes.

* * *

Moira strode into the cafeteria, a woman on a mission. She saw her targets seated together. The table bare between them except for cups of coffee. All appeared haggard, miserable. Except Carson who just looked tired. Moira scowled. She strode to them. Slammed her palm on the table. Making the coffee cups rattle. Making the men jump. "What the hell were you thinking?" she flared.

"Moira, please," Evan whined.

"Moira, don't shout!" Rodney pleaded.

"Moira, love, take it easy," Carson soothed.

"Easy? Easy! What the hell happened last night? The party got out of control! I trusted you three to give John a hell of a send-off! Not get him so plastered he can barely function! And I said no strippers!"

"They weren't strippers. Just, um, scantily clad dancers," Evan explained. Grimaced.

"I trusted you to keep an eye on him! You!" She pointed at Rodney and he cringed. "I told you specifically to watch out for him!"

"I did! It was a bachelor party, Moira! So there was food, booze, broads, cigars, music! Did I say food? And it's not fault that every woman who has a pulse wants to jump John's bones, now is it? Is it? No! You should be used to that by now! Hell, you were one of them! Here, there, everywhere the babes want John!"

"That's quite enough, Rodney!" Carson remonstrated.

"I agree! I've had quite enough of it too!" Rodney complained.

"That's beside the point! I told you no strippers! No dancers!"

"Don't you trust him?" Rodney sneered. But regretted it as Moira's gaze faltered, then became cold, so cold. Brown eyes full of fury.

"Of course I do. That doesn't mean I want you to throw women at him! And you shouldn't have gotten him so wasted! No wonder you all feel like hell today! I expected better, Rodney, especially of you! You!" She pointed at Carson. "You should have made sure he got back to our rooms safely!"

"Safely? I tried, but he insisted I go back to–" Carson attempted.

"Don't care! I don't care if he pulled a gun on you! You never should have left him alone! One of those four fucking ex-lovers followed him and...and...you shouldn't have left him alone, Carson! How could you?"

"He has four ex–" began Rodney, startled by this revelation.

"I'm sorry, love. I–"

"You!" She pointed at Evan.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"I...I don't know. Yet! But at the very least you should have had my back as my friend! As John's friend! All three of you deserve those hangovers!" She glared, about to say more. But whirled and strode out of the cafeteria.

"Moira! Wait!" Carson rose but Evan stopped him.

"No, doc! I wouldn't. Let her cool down first."

"She's in a right state and that can't be good for her," the doctor worried.

"Trust me, Carson. Let her cool off first," Evan repeated solemnly.

"Damn. If she lit into us like that can you imagine what she did to John?" Rodney asked, shaking his head.

"We're about to find out." Evan gestured. John was getting a cup of coffee. He had neglected to shave but had on a clean blue t-shirt, blue pants. He walked over to them, eyed them. Their downcast, miserable expressions. Like guilty boys caught in the act and severely reprimanded for it. He smirked a moment.

"Moira?" he guessed.

"How did you guess, sir?" Evan quipped with a sigh.

"She's out of control, John!" Rodney fumed. "Ranting and raving like a lunatic! It was your bachelor party! What did she expect? Of course we all got drunk, got carried away! Of course the women were swarming all over you like they always do! How the hell was I to know an ex-girlfriend would show up and make the moves on you! Four? Really, John, four? Where was I? Oh! It's not my fault!"

"She's under a lot of stress, Rodney, so cut her some slack," John explained, trying to reign in his own temper at his friend's words.

"Stress? Stress? What kind of stress could she possibly be under? She's a paleozoologist for God's sake! Not like me! When was the last time she ran the city? Saved the city! Had to figure out the complicated algorithms and advanced equations to create a hyperdrive system for a ship that can't even handle it?"

"She's helping me with the Wraith DNA and–" Carson tried to interject.

"And how is that stressful? Apart from working with you?" Rodney quipped, causing the doctor to frown. "No, John," he pointed at his friend, "I'm serious! I think she's unbalanced! Emotionally unstable. Maybe she should see a therapist or–"

"That's enough, Rodney!" John warned, voice low. Gaze narrowing in threat.

The scientist ignored it. "She has some serious emotional issues, John, I'm not kidding! And has no reason to attack me! None! Stress," he scoffed, "maybe being married to you is stressful! Did you ever think of that? With all of your ex-girlfriends flirting with you no wonder Moira's gone off the deep end! You–"

"McKay, I'd stop right there," Evan warned, seeing the dangerous glower on John's face.

"–really should have her see a shrink or give her some valium or–" Rodney continued.

"Rodney! I'll only warn you once," John said quietly. "Stop now."

"I'm trying to understand her emotional and violent outbursts. What kind of stress could she possibly be under? I think she's mentally unbalanced and needs a–"

"She might be pregnant, all right?" John snapped before he could stop himself. Regretted it instantly. All gazes locked on him. Shock. Surprise. Delight.

"Congrat–" Evan began with a grin.

"Not a word! We don't know yet! We won't know for...for..."

"A week," Carson supplied.

"You knew? You let me go on and on like that and you knew?" Rodney accused.

"It's not my place to say a word. Doctor patient privilege."

"Wow. John, I'm sorry! I–"

"Enough! Not a word. Not a fucking word until we know for sure. Got it? Shit." John sat. Rubbed his temples. "I'm a dead man. Damn it."

"Don't worry, sir. I won't say a word," Evan assured.

"You're not the one I'm worried about, major." He glared at Rodney. "You! Last time I blurted something all she had to do was look at you. Saw how you reacted to her and she knew. Damn. I'm a dead man," he muttered wearily.

"I won't say a thing, John! Look, I won't interact with her, okay? Geez!"

"She'll know. She always knows. Damn it," John mourned.

"Do you want me to talk to her, colonel?" Carson offered. "Since you're not very good at these kind of things."

"No," he said gruffly. Stood. Downed the coffee. Grimaced. "Not a word," he ordered sternly. Sighed. "I'm a dead man," he repeated under his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

Migration4

Moira sat back, checking her notes. "This is amazing, Peter! We've had actual tissue samples, actual DNA sequences from long-extinct species but this...this...we could re-write the entire genome of the mammalian tree of life!"

"Yes, we could!" Peter Harbison agreed with a smile. "This is groundbreaking! It's a shame we can't publish any of this. No one will ever know. It's not like we can show our work," the older man lamented. Sighed. Shook his head.

"Maybe some day. What a shame. We could have won a Nobel for this."

He laughed. "I believe so. Oh well, at least we have the pure scientific discovery. Maybe next time you can get some samples from the predators."

"That will prove to be tricky. It was difficult enough getting these." She turned to him. "What I really need to do is to stay there. We need to stay there for at least a month. To really study."

"I know. I've presented a proposal to Doctor Weir, and although she is sympathetic, well, let's face it, Moira. Our research is at the bottom of a very long totem pole."

She sighed. "I know." She turned back to the microscope. "Although, maybe I can hasten it up the pole a bit with what I am working on now. All of this protein research and the Wraith. I think I'm onto something but I need more time to develop it fully."

"Time away from this?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Afraid so." She shrugged. "Actually, I need whatever notes you have on the regenerative properties of the Wraith. Compared to examples of other species. The correlation between the renewing potential every living thing has and why the simpler animals retained it. When the more complex forms lost it."

"Except for the Wraith. What exactly are you looking for?" Peter asked, intrigued.

Moira shrugged. "I'm not sure. Yet. But I will be. These different Wraith...their evolution is vastly different from the Wraith here, and I don't think its all bio-engineered either. And speaking of the Wraith here we need to look at them differently. Not as monsters but as predators at the apex of the food chain. Their hive ships and their hibernation cycles, I believe, are linked to the vast migration across the galaxy, the enabling of prey cycles and the..." She paused.

John was lingering in the doorway. Staring at her. Listening to her every word. Following the curves of her body. Following the leaps her brilliant mind was making, the connections from several disciplines. He straightened, entered the bio lab. "Is this a new theory, Moira?"

She ignored him. Turned back to her microscope. "Let's see if we can isolate this further. Break down the subsequent species by classification to compose a more complete picture."

"Doctor Harbison, could you give us a moment?"

"Oh? Of course, colonel."

John waited until the biologist had left the room. He walked over to Moira. Waited, but she ignored him. Examined a slide. "Well? Moira? New theory? About the Wraith? That falls under my purview, you know. As do you."

"I'm not apologizing, John," she said stiffly.

"Okay. I'm not asking you to, sweetheart. You–"

"Don't you dare sweetheart me!" She still wouldn't look at him. "I know it wasn't entirely your fault but I am still furious! I had to vent! At you. But you deserved it! You and your wandering cock!"

"Moira! I never–"

"Oh, save it, flyboy, please! I know you are pissed you had to endure another Moira O'Meara storm but you deserved it. So did Rodney, Carson, and Evan! They should have had your back. They should have had mine. It was quite a shock, to see you...to see you like that...good God, John, of all the women in this fucking city did it have to be her? Oh, I know," she continued, before he could protest, "it wasn't your choice, your doing, even your inclination maybe but still, if you like her so much why did you ever end it with her in the first place?"

John tensed. Felt he was on the edge of a precipice. With Moira either waiting to push him over the edge or pull him to safety. "It ended. It was just sex. Didn't mean a thing."

She stared at the microscope. Unable, unwilling to look at him. "Oh."

"Oh? Yeah. Oh. And it's Sheppard. I endured another Moira Sheppard storm. And deserved every bit of it, I know. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I lost control of the situation, the party, the...I'd never hurt you, Moira. Never. I'll never hurt you like that, I swear."

She felt a surge of tears. Struggled to be calm. "But you did. You did. You always do...with, with her. Always with her," she whispered. He stepped closer to hear her. Touched her back but she stiffened. "No. I, I can't do this right now, John. Just go. Please, just go. I've got work to do. Important work. Just go."

"Never. Never, Moira." He caught her hands, turned to him but she wouldn't meet his gaze. "Moira, you can trust me. You can trust me completely. I swear. I love you, Moira. You. I don't want to lose an ounce of your trust, your love. Moy, don't you ever doubt me. Don't you ever doubt my love for you. My loyalty. You are everything to me, Moy, and I need you to never doubt that. To never doubt me. Moy, look at me. Moy."

She bit her lower lip. Finally met his gaze. His handsome face weary but solemn. Sincere. Brilliant green eyes full of love, of worry. Scruffy lower jaw and disordered hair making him all the more handsome, more vulnerable. Full lips luring her mouth to his. "I...I...I....can't, John. I don't. I don't doubt your, your love, your loyalty...your..."

"But you do. I can see that you do," he intoned quietly. Gaze locked with hers. Locked in those brown depths of tears, of sorrow, of anger. "Fuck. Don't, Moy. Don't you dare ever doubt the depth of my feelings for you. For us." He kissed her. A long, slow kiss making her mouth yield to his. Making a soft murmur in her throat. Making her fingers tighten on his. "Come with me, Moy. Now," he suggested into her ear. Kissing down her throat.

"John? I...I have work to do. We're on the verge of a...a...a...." she stammered softly. Uncertain. Captivated. Suspicious. Enamored. She felt tears.

"Can't you do that later, Moy? Hmm?" He kissed her again. "There's plenty of time for that. But this..." he wooed, kissing her. Hands freed hers to touch her sides, to caress, "this, though, is something we both need. Sweetheart. My Moira. Your John."

"I...um...what do you have in mind, John? Sex?"

He smiled at her hesitant tone. "Whatever you want, sweetheart. Sex. Love. Sex. Or just a snuggle under a blanket. A nap. To be honest my head still hurts, and I could use a little wifely TLC, even though I don't deserve it."

"That's true," she agreed. But he pouted and she smiled. "John." She kissed him. Stood. Moved into his arms. "I can give you some TLC for a little while, but no sex. It's your own fault you feel like hell."

"Yeah, I know. _Mea culpa._" He drew back from her, but kept his arms around her. Pouted. Licked his lips, wetting his bottom lip. Gave her puppy dog eyes. "So? Moira?"

She sighed. "How can I resist, colonel? I can work on this later, I guess."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He kissed her. Took her hand, and led her out of the lab.

John removed his boots. Downed some aspirin, water. He laid back on their bed, flinging a heavy blanket over himself. He closed his eyes. Colors danced along his eyelids. His head pounded in time to them. He smiled as Moira joined him. Sat close. Began to gently massage his temples, his hair. She lightly kissed his lips, his cheeks, his jaw. His throat. "Moira," he muttered, relaxing.

"Take it easy, John."

"Can I? Um, um, did I say anything, um, when I was drunk to upset you?"

"No. You sang."

"I did?"

"Loudly."

"Damn. I hate when I do that," he lamented. "Oh God...not over the PA again?"

Moira smiled at his tone. "No. You kept singing _You're Having My Baby_ over and over."

John opened his eyes. "Shit. Are you kidding me? I'm sorry, Moira. Good God...I'm sorry! Of all the things I could sing to you I inflicted a Neil Sedaka tune on you? It's a wonder you haven't divorced me yet."

"John!" Moira laughed at his shocked consternation.

"I'm serious, Moira. I am so sorry, sweetheart! What else?"

"You said I had the most beautiful breasts you've ever seen."

"I did? Well, that's true, Moy. Very." He reached up to caress one.

"Yes, you went on and on and on about it. Them. About how many you've seen so you should know."

"I...oh..." he groaned. "Damn it," he regretted.

"Considering your expertise that was quite a compliment, colonel."

"Hilarious, Moira. Anything else I'll be sure to regret?"

"Just about the...um..." Moira looked from his warm gaze to the table. "If I have a, a baby. Your baby. Well, obviously yours."

"Crap. What did I say? Remember I was very drunk at the time, sweetheart."

"Nothing bad," she assured. Felt tears. "You, you admitted you weren't sure you were ready. I feel the same. Then you, you said you wanted me. Wanted me to be pregnant. You wanted me to have your, your son."

"I...oh...well, that's how I feel. How I really feel, Moy." He touched her cheek, turning her face to his. "I didn't want to tell you in case it upset you, put pressure on you. Or if you're not pregnant right now. But yes, either now or when it happens. When we decide to start a family. Yeah."

"And, and you wanted to name him John. John junior, but you didn't want to use your middle name. I tried to explain that it wouldn't be junior without your full name, but you insisted that since we are in a new galaxy new rules apply. You wanted me to choose a middle name but not some weird, unpronounceable Irish one."

"Oh." He smiled. "Well, yeah. Yeah, I do. Want that. John junior. But not my middle name. No fucking way will I inflict that on a kid. And no strange Irish ones either."

"John," she pouted. "I am going to find one you cannot pronounce or spell, just because you said that," she teased.

He smiled. "Hilarious, Moira. No. Are you all right? With all that, I mean?"

"Yes, John."

He drew her down to him. Kissed her. "Snuggle with me." He turned onto his side as she slipped under the blanket with him, nestled into him. He kissed her brow, her lips. Stroked her back. "My Moira...I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back, every bit of it, Moy. We'll be fine, if you are or your aren't. Either way we'll be fine. Don't you worry, baby."

Moira snuggled into his warmth, his love. Wishing she had his confidence, his surety. His strength. She gently caressed his arm, mulling over his words. His very real concern over having lost some of her trust. Some of her love. "Okay, John," she whispered.

"Moira...don't you ever doubt me, baby...never..." he muttered, falling asleep. Relaxing into the comfort of the bed. The comfort of her soft body pressed to his. The warmth. The love.


	5. Chapter 5

Migration5

Moira shook her head. "No! I'm telling you it can be done! A least a reasonable facsimile! Where is Rodney! He could do it! It's like he's avoiding me, and for good reason but still I need him now since you refuse to help me!"

Radek Zelenka sighed. "It's not that I am refusing, Moira. It's just that even if such a thing did exist in the data base it does not mean it will have any relevance now. That is all I am saying."

"Damn it, Radek, I need those projections! Where is Rodney?" she repeated angrily. Slammed her hand on the console. "I need..." She gasped as the power flared wildly. She freed the console, stumbled back from it in alarm. "Oops. What did I do?"

"You just activated all secondary systems in this sector!" Radek swore in Czech, shutting them down quickly. An alarm blared, was silenced. "How in the world did you do that?"

"I...I don't know...I..." She turned as technicians were scurrying, checking their own systems. "Um...I...John!" Moira tapped the comm unit. "John, I need you in the control room, please, now! John, now!"

* * *

John's own snoring woke him. He snorted, rolled onto his back. Blearily opened his eyes. "Moira?" He scowled, finding her gone. Sighed. Rubbed his eyes. Yawned. He gingerly rubbed his temples. The headache had faded to a dim pressure. Graying light cast shadows across the floor. Along the table. Around the wilting roses. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Wondered where Moira was. Until her frantic voice sounded out of the wall unit.

He sprang to his feet, sprinted to the control room, headache all but forgotten.

* * *

"Almost there...I don't know how but you triggered a systems generator on the third level and we haven't even explored there yet!" Radek exclaimed, shaking his head. Muttering in Czech his fingers flew over the controls.

"What's happening? My console just threw tons of data at me and I wasn't even on it!" Elizabeth exclaimed, rushing into the control room. "Status?"

"Things are fine now. We just had a power surge," Radek explained, glancing at Moira who had frozen in place.

"What the hell? Why was the third tier activated? I was in the middle of oh oh never mind it's fine," Rodney ran into the control room, saw Moira, did a complete three sixty and ran out before she could meet his gaze.

"Rodney! Rodney, wait!" Moira called, following but suddenly was intercepted by John.

"Moira, what is it?" he asked, concerned. Catching her gently and guiding her back to Radek.

"It's fine now. Unexplained power surge," Radek noted, shrugging. Eying Moira again.

She shrank against John a moment. His arm encircled her. "I...I...it happened again, but that doesn't mean, I mean, I was upset so so so..." she stammered, blushing.

"All right, sweetheart, it could be anything," he soothed, but stepped past her to eye the scientist.

"Just a power surge. Sometimes happens when you're tinkering around. Well, when Rodney is."

Radek met his gaze, saw the resolve. "Right. Of course. These things happen." His gaze slid to Moira again. "You still want me to bring up those protocols?"

Moira swallowed, uncertain. Grateful for John's protective intervention. "Um...yes, please. No! I'll have Rodney do–"

"No," John argued. "Radek can do it. Whatever it is. What is it, exactly?"

She hesitated. "I...um..."

"Does that have to do with that new theory of yours?" John asked.

"No. I mean yes. No." She sighed at his raised brow. "Maybe. Look, I'm doing several things at once, John! I–"

"As long as one of them is me." At her frown he relented. "What do you need? Radek, give her whatever she needs."

"I can't! It's buried deep in the database and will take me–"

"Don't care. Whatever she needs." He turned to Moira. "What exactly do you need?"

She hesitated. "I...um...any references to Wraith migratory patterns over the last ten thousand years to establish if there is a fixed action pattern because we are all creatures of habit, people, animals, insects, and therefore the Wraith are no exception and we can possibly establish a link between their suprachiasmatic nucleus and their hibernation cycles plus the circannual rhythm."

John blinked. "Oh. Of course." He turned back to Radek. "You heard her. The Ancients must have tracked the Wraith's movements over the years in order to see if there was a pattern they could intercept and act upon. See if it's there. Why didn't we think of that?" He frowned, thinking. "If we knew with a reasonable amount of certainty where they were going, or where they came from...ah." He looked back at her. "Okay, I can follow that part. You believe that they have a relatively established pattern of migration, point a to point b, right? But that last part utterly lost me. Some kind of super charismatic and the circus rhythm?" He waggled a brow at her. "Sounds kind of, oh, I don't know...kinky."

Moira had to smile. "Only to you, John."

"Go on. You know you want to," he sighed, taking a seat with a long-suffering expression on his face.

"You believe you can predict a pattern to the Wraith movements across the galaxy?" Elizabeth asked, intrigued.

Moira shrugged. "Maybe. Possibly. I mean their natural cycles were interrupted when John woke them up, but otherwise we can–"

"Hey! I wasn't the only one, okay? But go on," he encouraged.

"It...it's just a theory," she hedged, uncomfortable as everyone was staring at her. "It probably won't amount to anything." She moved to Radek, looked over his shoulder. "There might be the same planetary trajectory and–"

"Yes, I limited the search to those parameters. Still searching. This may take awhile."

"Sorry." She looked over to see John watching her. "What?"

"Migration. Come on, doctor, spill it. All of it. Even the charismatic circus."

"Excuse me? The what?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing." Moira turned back to watch Radek.

John stared, wondering at her unusual reticence. Especially over scientific matters. "What was it, Moira? Their . Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious," he said, voice solemn.

Moira snorted a laugh. "John!"

"What? That's what it sounded like to me! Elizabeth, am I wrong?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Not at all, John. I'm sure that is exactly what you heard."

"So? Moira? Lunch." He stood.

"What?" she asked.

"Lunch. You can dazzle me with your science over lunch, just don't blind me with it. You know? The song? She blinded me with science? Yes, that one," he nodded to her smile. "Let's go. Debrief over lunch. De-panty later?" he asked, voice low as he led her away from the console.

"John!" she objected, but had to smile. He was being so charming, so flirtatious. His affection shining in his brilliant green eyes, making him irresistible. "Are you sure, colonel? It involves a lot of big words and I don't want to upset that pretty head of yours."

He snorted. "Cute. Very. I'm sure you can dumb it down for me, doctor. In fact I'm sure you would enjoy it. Migration. Assuming you're right, which you probably are, if they do follow a prescribed pattern more or less then that could help us be one jump ahead of them. Ah. You want go the other way, though, don't you? Back to the point of origin? Would migration interfere with their hibernation cycles?"

Moira stopped, met his gaze. Startled by how quickly he grasped things, brain racing under that rakish charm, under that flippant attitude. "Sort of. Um."

He waited. As they stood in the hallway, facing each other. "Um? Brilliant theory, doctor. Wow. I never would have come up with that kind of insight in–"

"John!" She hit his arm. Laughed. "Stop it!"

"Well? Um?"

"Um. Okay, colonel, brace yourself. No."

He waited. Smirked. "No? That's it? No."

"Yes. The answer to your question. No. Because of the SCN. The circannaul rhythm. The inner calendar." At his blank look she sighed. "Okay, let me start at the beginning."

"That wasn't the beginning?" he quipped.

"No. Here." She took his hand, led him to the cafeteria. Led him to a table, bypassing the food. They sat across from each other. "The circadian rhythm is the biological clock. The SCN is the suprachiasmistic nucleus. A very small structure behind the eyes where the visual nerves cross. Light-sensitive sensory cells of the eye feed the SCN with information about the environment. The release of hormones triggers certain responses, like when to wake up, when to go to sleep. During hibernation these senses are turned off, as it were. With me so far, colonel?"

"Yes, doctor, but barely. Go on," John encouraged.

She smiled. "The circannaul rhythm is the inner calendar. It regulates migration and other things like, um, reproductive behavior."

"Ah. Okay. So?"

"So, this is where I need Rodney. And Carson, with the proteins. It all fits together, John, but it's terribly complicated. I mean I'm tracking several things at once. The migratory patterns could be predictable to a point, and if you factor in the hibernation cycles as relevant to the population rises and falls due to predation you could, theoretically, predict with an probable degree of certainty the path the Wraith take on their migratory journey. Given this and what we are discovering from the altered Wraith and the collapsing proteins, well...it's obvious."

John almost regretted encouraging her as she warmed to the topic. "Um, obviously obvious."

She sighed. "I know, I know, but it all fits. Somehow. With some degree of certainty we could tell where they are going, and so could he, but more importantly we can tell from where they came. Where they really survive. Somewhere in this galaxy, John, if we can only find it. Maybe even the proto-Wraith, but I'm not sure now. I mean the proteins. Did you know, John, that everything is a protein? I mean I've checked with Carson on this and it could be why the ATA Wraith were able to assimilate the gene, and may explain their enhanced psychic powers, the ninth chevron, remember? It's not in the DNA, John! It's in the RNA! We've been looking in the wrong place!" she asserted hotly. Brown eyes wide with excitement. "It's in the mRNA!"

She waited for his reaction. Waited. Waited.


	6. Chapter 6

Migration6

John stared at Moira. "He?" He had followed her words, her convoluted yet rational science to a point. But had honed in on the one thing he found to be most important. "He?" he repeated.

She faltered. Swallowed. "Um..."

"Oh no. Not um again. Moira? Moira. Crap. You've got to be kidding me! Him?" John flared, gaze narrowing.

"Yes, John. The colonel. Look, we owe him! He gave us that warning, didn't he? He pointed me in the right direction. I need to send a short data burst with the relevant material, in Gaelic for his eyes only since we don't know how secure his connection is and then–"

"No." John's voice was quiet. Final.

"John! It's just a note under the door, like Rodney said, remember? We–"

"I said no, Moira. No. Back to migration. You don't want to know where they're going, because let's face it, that's been altered by their early awakening. Their hibernation cycles have been irreparably disrupted so all data pertaining to their earlier migratory patterns will at best be supposition and at worst be useless. However, that being said if we trace it backwards like you intend to do then we may have something important. The point of origin? No, I doubt that. Possibly the proto-Wraith, but that's assuming they even still exist, and frankly I don't think they do. Given the evolutionary development of the Wraith and how advanced they are now. Not to mention how competitive with each other. Any lesser forms would be annihilated. Rather like the theory that modern humans eliminated the Neanderthals through either willful murder or just out-competing them for limited resources."

Moira blinked. Astounded. Impressed. Her annoyance at his stern refusal interrupted. "Huh?"

He smiled. "Ah. Amazing, isn't it? What my pretty head can do? I know what you're hoping to find there, Moira. The breeding ground. And that is worth investigating. Now, your theories and suppositions about the Wraith are based on their arthropod heritage, while Carson's are based on their human heritage. Correct?"

"Huh? I mean, um, yes."

"Yes. And if I'm not mistaken, and believe me, I'm not, you have compared the Wraith society, as it were, not to any comparable human society but in fact to that of bees."

Moira blinked again. "Um, yes. You, you read that report?"

John smiled. "Yes. I had a hell of a time finding your old reports, let me tell you. The ones before you and I became the most passionate lovers on the base. But yes, I did. There are a few things I need you to explain to me, though, just for clarification, but that can wait until later. Once we pinpoint the location of this alleged breeding ground. And that other stuff? The proteins and RNA stuff...frankly you did lose me there, despite your excitement. So I will need you to dumb that down for me too. Later. Seriously, Moira, once you wander into genetics I tend to wander to my happy place. You know, guns. Ammo. Fighter jets. You."

She smiled. "Wow...I...um...wow. John, you...you just might have earned some serious sex points there, sweetie."

He smiled. "About time, baby. But first let's eat lunch." They stood. Moved to get in line.

Moira filled her tray as John half-heartedly filled his, not having his appetite back yet. She smirked at him and he scowled playfully. She looked across the room. Spotted Rodney. Rodney spotted her. She saw his stare. The quick glance down to her abdomen, then up again. His guilty look away from her. Moira dropped the tray. Food flew in all directions as the tray clattered noisily onto the floor.

"Moira?" John asked in alarm.

She whirled to face him. "How could you? How could you, John? We don't even know!"

"What? I..." He glanced past her, saw Rodney trying to shrink into a seat. "Crap." He met her gaze. "Moira, I...it just slipped out, is all."

"Slipped out? Again? Do you tell all your friends my confidences?"

"No! I–"

She shoved past him, furious. Strode out of the cafeteria.

"Crap." He set down his tray. Glared at Rodney.

"What? I didn't say anything!" the scientist proclaimed his innocence.

But John was gone, hastening after his irate wife. "Moira! Moira, wait! I'm sorry! Moira! Slow down, damn it!" He quickened his pace, making his headache start to return. Pursued her into their room. She whirled as he reached her.

"Fuck you, John! Why can't you keep your mouth shut? God! Must you tell Rodney everything? First about my past, now this? Who else did you tell?"

"No one! Moira, I'm sorry! Rodney was going on and on about you, your emotional outburst and lashing out at him and I was trying to explain you were under a lot of stress and it just slipped out!"

She abruptly burst into tears. Moved to sit on the bed. "Why? Why can't you keep anything private?"

He stared, shocked by her violent reaction. "I...I do! Lots of things! Everything! Moira, calm down!"

"Calm down? Calm down?" she nearly shouted at him. "You never listen, John! Never! You can talk to Rodney but you hardly ever talk to me!"

"You know that isn't true," he temporized, sitting next to her.

She turned away from him, wiping her eyes. "Go away! Just get out! Go find your one of your fucking four ex-lovers! Go find that Susan! You like to give her your cock, don't you? Don't you? Damn it, John, why don't you just make a fucking PA announcement! Push me so far I'll break under the pressure! Is that what you want? Do you want me so stressed I lose this baby if I have one? Is it?"

"No! For God's sake, no! Moira! Of course not! Calm down! You're not making any sense." He touched her shoulder.

She flinched. "Don't you fucking touch me! I can't! I can't! I can't do this, John!"

"Can't do what, Moira?" he asked, grasping her shoulder. Firm but gentle.

"I can't, I can't, I can't!" she sobbed. Suddenly flew to the bathroom, slammed the door shut. Fell to her knees over the toilet and retched.

John swore, stood. Moved to the door. Wincing at the sounds. Wondering if it was pregnancy, stress, illness. "Moira? Moira! What can't you do? Moira!" He banged his fist on the door as her retching stopped. The toilet flushed. Water ran. "Moira! Open the door! What can't you do? You can't be with me? You can't have my baby? What? Moira!" He pounded his fist on the door again. "Damn it, open the door! What can't you do? Maybe Rodney was right! Maybe you are emotionally unstable! Moira! Need to see a shrink! Moira! I'll break it down, I swear I will! Open the door!"

Moira unlocked the door. Opened it. Face flushed, eyes wet with tears. His anger evaporated upon seeing her. "Sorry, John," she whispered. Moved past him. Laid on the bed, curling up under the heavy blanket.

John stared, uncertain. Bewildered. He didn't know what to do. "Moira?" He moved to the bed. Hesitated. Carefully, oh so carefully got in beside her. Spooned against her back, arm sliding along her waist. She didn't move, but didn't pull away either. "Moira? Talk to me," he urged quietly. Kissed her brow.

She stared at the wall. "No. You'll just, you'll just tell Rodney. How fucked up I am."

"No. I won't. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Truly. I didn't mean for it to slip out but it did."

"You...you're as, as fucked up as I am," she accused.

"Yeah. I know. Probably more so. Talk to me, sweetheart. What is wrong? What can't you do?"

She caught his arm, snuggled backwards into him. Needing that strength, that warmth. That solid surety. "Nothing," she muttered. Miserable. Guilty. Upset and afraid and feeling so awful, so tired. "I'm sorry, John."

He kissed down her throat. "Talk to me, Moy. What can't you do? Moira, you have to tell me. You need to relax, calm down. Okay? Don't make yourself sick over this, over anything. Tell me, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, John," she repeated softly.

He sighed. "Just tell me, Moy. You're not leaving me, are you?"

"No."

He relaxed a little. "All right, then." He held her close, stroking her waist. Fingers sliding up to her breasts as she held his arm. "What can't you do?"

"I'm sorry, John."

"No. I don't want to hear that again. Why are you sorry, Moira? Moira...do you know? Do you know if you are pregnant? Sweetheart, you need to tell me either way. Is that it?"

"No. I...I don't know...for certain..." she whispered.

"Ah. But you suspect you are? Is that it? You can tell me, Moy. It's all right. Is that it?"

"I'm sorry, John."

He sighed, kissed her brow. "All right. We'll leave it for now, sweetheart. Until we know for certain, one way or the other we won't say a word about any of it. Okay? But you need to tell me the second you find out, either way. All right?"

"Okay, John."

"Okay, Moira." He kissed her throat, her cheek. He waited until she had calmed. Was falling asleep wrapped in his arms, his warmth, his love. Carefully he freed her, slipped off the bed. Stared at her. Torn between anger and worry. He strode to the infirmary. "Carson!"

Carson turned from the cut on a marine's arm. "Just a second, John. There." He sighed, moved to him. "It seems not every man can hold their drink very well, colonel. Why I've lost count of how many I've treated for–"

"Carson, I need you to come with me. To see Moira."

"Moira? What's wrong?"

"Hell if I know. She got sick. I don't know if it's stress, or, or pregnancy," he lowered his voice at the volatile word, "or just illness but she won't talk to me. She's all over the map again! Sobbing one moment, then flirting with me, then being all sciency and I swear to God I can't understand her!"

"Sciency?" Carson asked with a smile. "All right, John. Let me grab my bag and I'll make a room call. I'm sure she's fine. Why don't you get her some soup, no, some soup for the pair of you while I see her?"

"I...soup? I want to be there."

"No. I'd rather see Moira alone. It might be easier for her to talk to me, John. Alone. Now get soup and come back in, say, twenty minutes or so."

"Soup?" he repeated. "Fine. Just...just fix her, will you, doc?"

Carson smiled. "I'll do what I can, John. Get the soup."


	7. Chapter 7

Migration7

Someone was gently shaking her shoulder. Moira muttered. Another nudge. "No, John. John," she complained.

"Not John, love. It's Carson."

"John, you...what?" She rolled onto her back. Sat, startled. Awake. "Carson? What?" She looked past him. "Where–"

"John's terribly worried about you, Moira. I sent him to get you some soup. He said you got sick. How do you feel now?"

"I...I don't know." she frowned. "Carson...I...soup? I don't know. I can't..."

"Easy, love," the doctor soothed, patting her hand. "It's just us now. Relax." He felt her forehead, her throat. Checked her pulse. "You need to relax, Moira. You don't seem ill, but you are very upset." He opened his bag. "I'm going to take a little blood, just to be sure you don't have a virus or anything else. All right?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He was so calm, compassionate. Sympathetic. She winced, looked away as the needle pierced her vein. "Ow."

"Sorry, love. There." He folded up her arm over the tiny wound. "Keep that steady. Now then, love, let's have a chat. You need to relax, Moira. All the stress you are placing on yourself is making you sick. It won't do you any good, nor will it do the baby any good if you are pregnant. You need to talk about it. You can't tell John?"

Moira shook her head. Felt tears. "No. I....I can't. I'm afraid if I do...he'll leave me. Or hate me," she softly admitted. Staring miserably at her hands.

"Never, Moira. He loves you. More than he can even admit to himself, at times. Tell me, then. This is a very life-altering change you may be facing. And it wasn't planned?"

Moira blushed. "No...it...no."

"You are facing many changes. Physically, psychologically, personally and professionally. It's natural to be concerned. To be worried. But this intense stress isn't good for you. Or for the baby if you are pregnant."

"John...he has no idea how, how staggering it all is! If I am...if I...he's not concerned at all!"

"Now that's not true, Moira, and you know it. He's very concerned about you."

"He doesn't understand," she sulked.

"Of course he doesn't understand, Moira. He's a man." She briefly smiled. "I only get the gist of it because I am a doctor. Tell me. What is making you so unhappy, love?"

"I...I don't know if I can...can do this," she whispered, blushing. Guilty. She found it so easy to talk to Carson. His soothing voice, the Scottish lilt warm, full of sympathy. Blue eyes full of concern, compassion when she glanced at him briefly. He listened. Passed no judgements. Offered no opinions. "I don't know if I can handle this. Ever. But especially right now. I don't want...I don't want a baby right now. Later, yes, but not now. John...he doesn't listen to me. He wants it now. He never pressured me or anything, but he wants it now. I...I don't. Not now. It was an accident! It wasn't supposed to happen, Carson! I mean, we didn't plan it, we hadn't even discussed it, that particular subject...it just happened...we, we had unprotected sex."

Carson smiled. "That's usually how these things happen, Moira. And usually you don't plan them, exactly." He touched her hand as her fingers clutched the blanket on her lap. "Moira, this is a big decision, and you feel it's been taken out of your hands."

She met his gaze, startled. Eyes full of tears. "Yes!"

Carson nodded. "Aye. And that is why you are fighting it, isn't it? You are plagued with every doubt you can find, every uncertainty because you think you're not ready."

"I'm not ready!"

"No one is ready, Moira. No one. But we adjust. We learn. Most importantly you need to stop fighting it. You need to embrace it. At any rate we can terminate the pregnancy if you–"

"No!"she gasped, horrified. "Never! I would never! I don't want to do that! I mean if I am, um, pregnant, I am. I just...I do want John's baby, just not now...not...I'm not ready!"

"You need to stop, Moira. Give yourself a break! You'll be fine. You need to stop fighting and embrace it. Once you do you'll find life easier. All that tension will disappear. You need to talk to John. Don't be afraid to talk to him, Moira. I'm sure he feels the same way, despite his calm exterior. He's as bad as you are, burying everything and pretending he's fine. Plus he's being strong for you. Even if he had accepted it, welcomed it, I'm sure he still has similar doubts and similar worries."

"I...I guess. I should have thought of that."

"Well, it's understandable if you didn't. Now, relax. Those are doctor's orders. I'm confining you to quarters the rest of the day and tonight."

She stared at him. "What? I have work to do! You, you're grounding me?"

Carson smiled. "Aye, I'm grounding you, love. You can work here perfectly well. Moira, let John take care of you. The poor man is nearly out of his mind with worry for you. Give him something to do. Talk to him when you're ready. I don't want him underfoot pestering me to fix you, all right?"

She smiled. "I'll keep him here, Carson...somehow..."

Carson stood. "I'm sure you will, Moira. Merely ask and he will stay. He'd do anything for you, don't you know that by now?" He looked over hearing John noisily entering his room. "Now, I'll go tell him to look after you, shall I?"

"Carson? You–" she began to panic.

"Our chat is confidential, love. You know that. Relax. Let me go inform your husband you are to be pampered today." He crossed into the adjoining room. John stood awkwardly, tray full of soup bowls and water bottles. "John."

"Is she all right? Is she ill? Is she–"

"We had a lovely chat, Moira and I."

"A chat? Did she tell if you she's–"

"We had a lovely chat," Carson repeated quietly. "I'm confining her to quarters. She needs to relax. John, keep her relaxed, keep her secluded so she can relax."

"I...okay, of course ,but is she–"

"It's still too early to tell. She's fine. Physically. Take care of her. Talk about anything but the subject at hand. Ask her about the new mammalian classifications. Talk about a mission as long as it's routine and common. Talk about anything but–"

"The eight-hundred pound gorilla in the room, got it," John agreed. "Carson, this won't help her. She needs to talk–"

"She did. Now, if she–"

"Wait. She talked to you? About whatever the hell is bothering her that she can't tell me?" His grip on the tray tightened.

"Yes. Face it, John, sometimes it's easier for her to talk to me than to you. She'll talk to you when she's ready, but not before. No pushing. No questions. No interrogations. Be gentle. Just be with her, John."

John sighed. "I am here with her! What did she say?"

"You know I can't break that confidence."

"But I need to know what she said!" he flared.

"No."

"John! Where is my soup?" Moira called. Getting nervous at their low voices. Carson's calm, determined. John's rising and falling in annoyance, in anger, in concern. She got off the bed and moved to the table.

"She's fine, John. She loves you. More than you even realize sometimes." Carson returned to Moira. Retrieved his bag. Smiled. "All right, love, I'm off. I told John to obey your every command. Relax and rest. Eat. If you get sick again send John to fetch me. John, you really should get Moira some fresh roses," he scolded, shaking his head at the fading blooms. He eyed the pair, left.

Moira glanced at John. Smiled. "He's right, John. Are you going to stand there all day until the soup gets cold?"

"Huh?" He stared, astounded at the transformation from an overly emotional panic to a calm, thoughtful demeanor. "Okay." He carried the tray to the table, set it down. Sat next to her.

They ate in silence. Glancing at each other occasionally. Oddly awkward, neither knowing what to say. But the silence was comforting, companionable. Not heavy.

Moira watched him. The spoon gliding in and out his mouth, sliding along his full lips. He licked his lips from time to time. Swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing along his long neck. Chewing, the strong jaw shadowed with stubble. He sipped some water. So handsome, rakish with his unshaven face, disordered hair. Strong arms revealed by the blue t-shirt. Lean torso. "John, how is your head?"

"Better." He considered, meeting her gaze. "Tell me about this work of yours. Not the Wraith stuff, but the other stuff. The new classifications of extinct mammals."

"Really?"she asked, skeptical. Realized Carson must have suggested the topic.

"Really," he confirmed. Pushing the empty bowls aside.

She bit her lower lip, considering. Proceeded. "I've been working a new classification of mammals."

John waited, but she didn't add a word. Glanced at the empty bowls. Sipped some water. He smirked. "And? Come on, Moy, that's it? And?"

She smiled at his teasing. "And...and with the actual tissue samples we can build a more exact data base of ancient genomes from extinct species. Do you see how significant that is? We can see how ancient evolutionary examples relate to their modern counterparts! It's unprecedented! All we've ever had before were fossils. Sometimes we had to reconstruct an entire animal from a single tooth! With actual filmed footage and genetic sequencing we can prove or disprove every hypothesis in biological evolution!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. The passion in her brown eyes. So alluring. So arousing. "And win a Nobel prize," he teased.

She smiled. "Yes! Well, if we could publish, that is. But the science alone is enough, John! I'll give you an example! The order..." she paused, faltering. " Um, do you want an example?"

"Yes, Moy, please. Contrary to what you think I do find your work interesting. And I'm not just saying that to get into your pants."

She laughed. "Oh. Okay, John. An example." She waited, but he was watching her. Brilliant green eyes full of interest, warmth. Alert. "Um. Elephants. Order _Proboscidea_, or proboscids. Today we have only three species of elephants, from the only living family elephantids. Once, though, they were one of the most diverse groups, including not only true elephants but also deinotheres, mastodons, mammoths, gomphotheres, stegodontids...offshoots of the evolutionary tree and not the ancestors of elephants but members of an amazing tree of side branches and dead ends and other forms of life that came and went over the millions of years. Now, now we can really see if they are related to elephants, if they are ancestors or side branches and how these animals evolved whether directly or laterally. See?"

"Yeah. Okay."

She laughed. Touched his hand. "Don't be all coy, colonel. I remember your brilliance in the cafeteria. Don't you dare play the dumb, gorgeous jock with me."

He smiled. "What can I play with you, Moy? Hmm? How about the colonel and the doctor?"

She laughed again. "I love you, John. How do you, how do you put up with me? My, um, enthusiasms and my, um, storms."

"Easy, baby. I love you."

She stood. Moved behind him. "My rough and ready soldier, who seduces the prim paleontologist," she whispered in his ear. Began to massage his shoulders as she kissed down his throat. "What color underwear are you wearing?"

He nearly dropped the water bottle he had been holding. Set it aside. "What?"

She smirked at his surprise. Kissed down his throat again, fingers strongly kneading his muscles. "Well? Do you need to look, sweetie? Or shall I?"

"Hilarious, Moira. Um...are you–"

"Coming onto you? Oh yes, John. Yes. Oh John. Oh John," she wooed, moving to face him as he turned. She kissed his mouth. "I'm sorry, John, I–"

"No. Do you want–"

"Sex? Oh yes, John. Yes. Oh John." She smiled. Pulled him from the chair. To his feet. "It will help me relax. Carson said you were to obey me, flyboy. My every command. So...what color?" Her gaze drifted down his crotch.


	8. Chapter 8

Migration8

"Red." John smiled at the surprise in Moira's brown eyes as she moved her gaze up, up to meet his. Enjoying her interest, her flirtation. Relieved she was behaving more like herself.

"Red?" she asked.

He nodded. Smirked. "Do you want to see, baby?" he invited, hands undoing his belt. He paused. "Um, Moira? Are you sure?"

"Don't you want me, John?" she asked, tense.

"I always want you, Moira. Always." He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. A lengthy, seductive motion of his mouth on hers. His hands sliding down to squeeze her rear. He guided her towards the bed.

Moira broke the kiss. Hands on his chest. "I...I suppose you have a condom in your–"

"Pocket? Yes. A couple, actually. I never know when my wife is going to make sexual demands on me."

She laughed. "Poor sweetie...that must be very stressful."

He grinned. Moving her onto her back onto the bed. "Very," he agreed. "Very stressful. Very, very pleasurable," he intoned low, kissing along her throat as his body moved over hers. Hands sliding up to her breasts. "How do you want it, baby?"

Moira pulled him closer, kissing him. "Surprise me, sweetie. Oh John, John," she wooed, sliding her hands down to his crotch. To caress. To tease. To unzip. "Red?"

He was sliding her shirt up, up, revealing her black bra. He smiled at the front closure. Kissed her, catching her mouth again and again as he unhooked the bra. He kissed down her throat as his hands gently cupped, caressed her breasts. "Moira, oh baby," he said against her skin. "My Moira...so beautiful...so..." He paused, sliding down a little to lift, to view her breasts.

"John?" she asked, hands on his arms. Losing herself in his kisses, his erotic attentions. She shifted under him. Bodies pressing but not close enough, not intimate enough by far.

"So fucking beautiful," he said. "The most beautiful. I was right." He kissed her, gently kissed her breasts. Teasing the nipples into hardness, his mouth hot, wet.

Moira arched. Body sensitive to his tongue, to the scruff rubbing her breasts. To his calloused hands sliding down to undo her pants. Seeking. Searching to arouse her. "Oh John, John!"

"Moira, oh baby...this will be exquisite, I promise," he wooed. Sat suddenly. Pulled off his shirt. Removed his shoes. Moira watched him, impatient. She sat, pulling off her shirt, her bra. Wiggled out of her pants, kicked off her shoes. She smiled as John grabbed a condom from his pocket and stood to remove his pants. "No comments, baby, or I will lose deployment."

"Yes, sir." She smirked as he wiggled out of his pants. Stared at the crimson silk boxers with black guns all over them. "John...are those...P90s?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. But merriment danced between her words.

He smiled, hearing her amusement. The laughter just lurking under her voice. He pretended to be annoyed. "Yes! What else would I have on my undies, baby? No comments. I'm serious, Moira." He looked back at her. She was pressing her lips together, trying not to laugh. Brown eyes full of love, of merriment. He sighed. "Fine! Go ahead, Moira. I can't make love to you until you get it out of your system."

"Oh John!" She burst into laughter, sat and hugged his back as he sat on the bed. She kissed his shoulder. "They are adorable, colonel! And so appropriate! So...oh!" She laughed again, as her hand snaked round to fondle his erection. "Wow. There's nothing funny about that, sweetie."

"Damn right, baby. Let go so I can put this on." But her nails dug in suddenly. "Ow! Moira!" he complained. Nevertheless he was becoming stiff in her hand.

"Just so you know, sweetie, this is mine. Got it? If I ever catch this in some other woman, in some other woman's mouth or elsewhere I swear to God I will cut it off and hang it on the wall as my trophy. Got it?"

He gulped. Her voice was soft, but stern. No humor colored it. Her nails digging into his tender flesh, but his cock jerked in her grasp, becoming harder by the second. "Um, got it, baby. Don't you worry. I'm all yours."

"Good answer, colonel." She relaxed her hold. Began stroking up and down, up and down the hard length of him. Kissed his shoulder again. "Okay, John." She freed him. "Is the condom big enough for your own P90, colonel?"

"Hilarious, Moira! Give me a sec here, would you?" He relaxed, now that she was teasing again. He licked his lips.

"Take two seconds, John. That's a lot of ordnance to cover."

He laughed. "Damn right, baby."

Moira sighed happily. Reclined, curling a strand of her hair round and round her fingers, waiting. She paused as John turned to her. Eyes traveling all over her. "John?" His expression was serious, passionate. A reversal of their teasing and it threw her. "John?" she repeated.

He smiled. Slid close to her. Kissed her. Ran his hand over her breasts, down to her panties. Caressing, probing, long fingers searching as her legs opened to him. "Hmm...sweet and slow, I think. Moira. My Moira. I'll take it all away, baby, I promise. One sweet climax at a time. Just you. Me. That's all that fucking matters."

* * *

John rolled onto his back, sighed happily. Tiredly. One last thrust and he brought them both. A delicious spiraling climax and waves of intimate pleasure. He had taken his time with her. Prolonging the foreplay to excruciating lengths. Savoring every inch of her until he couldn't hold back any longer. Nor could she. Had taken her slowly, intimately, gaze locked with hers, bodies locked as they joined, joined. Finally increasing the tempo, the rhythm until they both plunged over into sexual release. Pleasure. He looked at Moira. "Hey, Moira, let's solve ever stressful moment like this."

She laughed. Met his gaze with a smile. "Absolutely, sweetie." She stared, dreamy-eyed. Had lost herself under his sweet attentions, affections. Had melted and ridden the crests of passion with him, marveling over his skills, his stamina. Only to do it again after a brief respite.

He laughed. Sat. "Ah baby, my hangover is cured too. But I'll keep this sweet remedy to myself." He pulled the condom off himself, stretched it and shot it to the floor next to the first one. "That was exquisite. Both times. So fucking sweet."

She reached out to touch his back. "John? Don't go yet."

"I'm not leaving, Moira." He reclined, pulled the covers over them. "On."

She smiled. Slipped on top of him, pressing her naked body to his. Kissed him generously. Teasingly opening her legs, shifting to accommodate him along her cleft. "Oh John, that was wonderful! Both times. John...is it...is it as good like that? I mean...with the condom?"

"Truthfully? No. I prefer naked cock, as do you, but it's fine. Don't you worry, baby. It's fine," he assured. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Tired, sweetie. Happily tired. You cleared my mind of everything."

"That was the idea, baby. Go to sleep, sweetheart. We can get dinner later." He held her close, stroking her back, her hair. Relaxing.

She giggled. "I don't think this is what Carson had in mind, exactly."

"Hey, whatever works, right?" He kissed her. "It definitely works for me, sweetheart."

"I'll say. Wow." He laughed. "I'm serious, John. You were...wow. Sometimes, sometimes sweet and slow is preferable to full throttle, don't you agree? John?"

John was drifting off to sleep, pleasantly tired. Sated. Secure. "Whatever you want, baby," he muttered. Eyes closed.

She smiled. Kissed him. Snuggled comfortably. "I want you, sweetie. Just like this. After such intimate lovemaking. Twice. Isn't this bliss, John?"

"Moira bliss," he whispered.

She smiled. Kissed him. "My John."

* * *

John woke. He was on his side. Moira lay facing him, entangled with him, pressed to him fast asleep. He kissed her gently, looked over at the clock. The dim lights of the city beaming brightness into the darkening room. He gently freed her. Sat.

Moira stirred. Reaching. Grasping hold of his thigh. "John."

"Ssh. Sleep, sweetheart. I'm right here."

Instead she woke. Yawned. Sat and covered herself with the blankets. "What time–"

"Not too late. But we've missed dinner. Hungry?"

"Yes! I'm starving!" she exclaimed, making him smile. "I'll–"

"Oh no." He kissed her. "You're grounded, remember? You keep that pert little ass in this bed, baby. That's an order from your colonel. Carson said you were to stay in bed."

She smiled. "No, John. I was to stay in this room, not the bed."

"Oh? Are you sure? I must have misinterpreted." He kissed her, rolling her onto her back. "I could have sworn he said to keep you in this bed, on your back...or your stomach...or your knees," he raised his brows suggestively, causing her to laugh, "and I was to keep you here. Be with you. On you. In you. One of those prepositions...or positions."

She laughed. "Oh? Yes, I think you're right, John. I must have heard him wrong. Keep me in bed. Stay with me. On me. In me. All three. But I do need to have dinner."

He sighed, but smiled. Sat. "I'll get it, baby. What do you want?" He kissed her, got out of the bed and hastily pulled on his clothes.

Moira watched him, admiring the view of his long, lean frame. The flexing of muscles as he dressed. "What? Oh...dinner. I seem to have several appetites returning, sweetie."

"Good."

"Cheeseburger. Fries. Lots. And a Coke."

He raised a brow, meeting her gaze. "That's not very healthy."

"No, but it's what I want. Apart from you."

"Very well, your highness. Back in ten. Don't you move that pert little ass, or get dressed."

"As ordered, colonel." She watched him leave. Reclined and stretched lazily in the bed. She felt so relaxed, sated. So loved. Protected. John had showered her with not only sex and passion but love. And she reveled in it. She touched her abdomen, considering Carson's advice.


	9. Chapter 9

Migration9

John loaded a tray. Caught himself humming under his breath, snorted his amusement. Shook his head. He was acting like an idiot. Like a man in love, he realized suddenly, and found it both amusing and wonderful. He turned as Carson joined him. The doctor eyed the contents of the tray. The profuse food. "Hey, doc."

"I trust that's not all for you?"

John smiled. "No. We got hungry. Moira's feeling great. More like herself. She's wonderful." He stopped himself before he started to gush about her. Shook his head again at this strange excess of emotion. Elation, even.

Carson smiled. "Good. Keep her that way, John."

"I will. I fully intend to keep her that way," he said with a smirk. Picturing how he had left her.

Naked in bed. Happy and sexually pleasured. Feeling loved, cherished. Realizing he felt that way himself, and he marveled over it for a moment. He moved down the line, impatient to return to her. He leaned over to grab a chocolate pudding, nearly overturned the tray he held when a hand caught the edge, steadying it. "Thanks, Carson! I better get her some chocolate to keep her extra sweet. And some fresh roses too."

"John Sheppard being romantic? I don't believe this."

John froze. Placing the pudding on the tray he deftly balanced as it was freed. He looked at Susan as she smiled at him, gaze raking over his disordered hair, stubbled face, messy clothes that were obviously pulled on in haste. The belt undone, one end hanging along his pelvis almost like a directional arrow. "Fuck off," he snarled. Strode out of the line.

Susan followed, glaring. "Damn it, John, stop pretending you don't want me! Stop pretending that some part of you still wants to be that ladies' man. And I know which part of you wants me, honey. That big, big part I had ever so briefly. Remember that?"

He turned to her in the hallway, so quickly she stumbled backwards to avoid hitting the tray. "No. You just don't get it, do you? I don't want you! Now fuck off and stay the hell away from us, away from Moira! Do you know what your filthy antics did? She might be pregnant, and because of you she might lose the baby, so stay the fuck away from us!" he snarled, the accusation flying out of his mouth before he could stop it. Needing to blame someone besides himself. Needing an outlet for that secret fear he couldn't even admit to himself.

Susan blinked. Stared. "I...she...I didn't...I mean...I never thought you'd–"

"Yeah, well, keep your mouth shut and leave us alone!" He stalked to his rooms, trying to calm himself. Control his anger. Let it go as it was the last thing that Moira needed from him. He stood a moment, burying it. Schooling his expression. He entered their room. Frowned. Moira was sitting on the bed, clad in a pale green nightshirt. "Hey. I said no clothes, baby."

"It's a nightshirt, sweetie. I got cold."

"Don't you worry, baby, I can remedy that." He set the tray on the table. "Let's eat." He took a seat, launched himself into his food. Moira joined him. Watched him as she ate hers. He ignored her studious gaze, knew she could sense something was wrong but pretended it wasn't. Enjoying his food, his beer, her company. He snatched several fries from her plate, making her laugh and protest, but he merely shrugged, teasing her. When he finished he sat back, sipping his beer. Eyes on her as she finished her burger. Devoured her fries. Drank her Coke. Her healthy appetite reassured him. "So? Round two, baby, or wait...that would be round three."

She looked at him. "John? Well?" Expectant.

He sighed. "I hate it when you do that. It's nothing, Moira, all right? Everything's fine, baby. Just you. Me. And possibly, you know." He glanced at her abdomen. Back to her face. Saw no anger at the oblique reference to the possible pregnancy, to his relief. But he saw her suspicion. "So...round three?" he tried to divert.

"Actually, John, I need to work on that message. So round three will have to wait, sweetie," she relented, as he seemed to be relaxing once more. Now that he was back with her.

"What message?" he asked, startled, although he knew very well.

She frowned. "You know. The message to the colonel. The data burst about the–"

"No. I think I said no, didn't I, Moira? I'm sure I did. No. Now...about round three," he smoothly changed topic, tone. Catching her hand in his as he leaned close to kiss her. "I was thinking of something a little more, shall we say, exuberant? Would that be to your liking, sweetheart?"

She smiled, but freed her hand, trying not to be distracted. "No, John. I mean I need to send that message. He needs the information! He–"

"Don't care. End of subject, baby. That's a direct order." He stood. Pulled her to her feet and kissed her. "Hmm...table?" he asked into her ear. Kissing down her throat.

She pushed, but only halfheartedly as he pressed her to him. His body warm, hard, intimate all at once. His mouth seductive, sensual. The full lips so soft, so pliable to hers. The tongue teasing, gliding, demanding all at once. His hands sliding along her back to press her to him. Body to body, her softness yielding to his firmness. "Oh John," she whispered, squealing softly as he grabbed her rear, hoisted her onto the table. She shoved the trays aside. A vase hit the floor with a clatter. She grabbed his arms as he gently pushed her onto her back, kissing her all the while.

Until the knock on the door made him pause. Groan softly as Moira's fingers had slid down to catch his erection. Tugging. "Crap." He straightened, freeing her. Guiding her fingers off his cock. "Hold position, baby. I'll get rid of them."

She sat, slipped off the table as he strode into his room, adjusting his pants on the way. Making her smirk. She was about to call out a sarcastic remark but hesitated. Wondering if he was going to be taken from her. Have to leave her yet again.

John stalked to his door. Opened it. Stared. "What the fuck do you want?"

Moira heard his tone. Abruptly cold, hostile. All the warmth, the passion drained from his voice. His change from the lover to the colonel instantaneous. She stepped round the bed. Drew back her foot and grimaced. "Ew! John! John," she complained, heading for his room, "couldn't you at least throw away your used condoms? I just stepped on..." She froze. Stared. Susan stood at the doorway. John was standing stiffly. Blocking the entrance. Body tense.

"Sorry, Moira," he said over his shoulder, voice calm, gentle. Then it changed to a furious, cold tone. "Get the fuck away from–"

"I wanted to apologize!" Susan blurted, startled by his hostility. By Moira's sudden appearance. By Moira's appearance. Her hair was a glorious mess cascading around her, past her shoulders, down to her breasts. Face flushed. Rosy lips parted, slightly swollen from the passionate kisses John had no doubt been bestowing before they had been interrupted. She was clad only in a green nightshirt and a pair of fuzzy green socks.

Moira saw the woman's surprise. The quick glance at her abdomen, then back to her face. Realized with a start that John had once again let things slip. Once again had voiced the possibility of her pregnancy. She was confounded by his continual blabbing of private things when most of the time he was reticent. But her anger was directed at the other woman. Moira moved to John's side. "You–" she began tersely.

"I'm sorry! About the other night. I mean...I...I never even realized that you might be pregnant," Susan directed her gaze at John's wife, unable to bear the malice glittering in John's emerald glare, "and I never imagined you could lose the baby by being so upset over, over, over...I am sorry, Moira. I never meant to endanger either of you."

John felt his stomach churn. The dinner he had enjoyed now threatening to come back up as the tension gripped him. Before he could speak Moira had taken his arm. A gentle but firm pressure. Steadying him. Restraining him. Claiming him.

"I'm afraid there's no need," Moira said. Voice soft, but strong. "You really think an apology will excuse what you did? What you've done to John? To me? The best thing you can do is to stay the hell away from us. Stay the hell away from John." She tugged John's arm, looking at him. Dismissing the other woman. "John, come back to bed. Twice is never enough, is it?"

John felt the tension momentarily drain from him. He met her gaze. "No, Moira, twice is not nearly enough. For us." Not looking at Susan he waved the door shut. Followed Moira as she led him to their room. "Um, Moy...um..."

"It's all right, John," she assured.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry! I...I ran into her in the cafeteria and she made some snide remarks so I lashed out and yes it slipped out again how you could be pregnant and were so upset you could have lost the baby. Look, I know I'm culpable too but she, she–"

"John!" she flared. Turning to him and halting his rambling. "It's fine. Really. I should apologize to you. I shouldn't have flaunted our, um, our sexual...but I couldn't help it. You are mine, damn it! Mine!" She freed his hand, moved to sit on the bed. "Why can't she see that?"

He joined her. "I don't know, baby. But I am yours. I love you." He kissed her.

She pushed him aside. "Stop telling people, would you? Damn it, John, we don't even know yet so stop telling people! That's a direct order, colonel!"

"Yes, ma'am. I won't say a word, I swear. Sorry. I...I don't know why it keeps slipping out of me like that..." He sighed. "Moy? What can I do to make it better, sweetheart?"

She sighed. Moved into his arms. "John, John...I shouldn't do this. It's wrong. It's petty. It's just jealousy. I trust you, I do...I...but it will be so awkward. Running into her, especially after your, your amnesiac indiscretion and then she had your cock in her mouth but I...if I am pregnant, John, the last thing I need is, is her running around Atlantis like a, like an offering on the menu, so, so...John...John...she has to go. She has to leave Atlantis." She took a deep breath, released it. Trying to stem the tears threatening to flood her eyes. "John? Please, John, please. John."

"Consider it done, sweetheart," he soothed. Kissing her brow, holding her close. Stroking her arm, her back. Trying to keep her calm. Reassured. Loved.

"Just like that?" she asked in a small voice.

"Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "She's gone. As soon as the Daedalus leaves, she's on it. End of story. I'm not doing this for you, baby, hell, not even for me, because I will never hurt you like that again."

She stared, his serious voice confusing her. "John? Then why? For whom?"

"Isn't it obvious, baby? I don't want it to end up as a trophy on your wall." He met her gaze as she stared, baffled. "My cock, baby," he clarified. He kept his voice solemn, expression grave. But they both smirked and laughed.


	10. Chapter 10

Migration10

Moira woke. Stealthily she slid from John's arms. He was sound asleep, snoring softly. Reclining on his side, limbs sprawled across the bed. Across her as she had been nestled into him. She carefully moved to the table. Sat. Quietly opened her laptop and quickly brought up some files. Converted the data into understandable sentences. Then translated it carefully into Gaelic. She kept glancing over her shoulder but John had not stirred. Was still snoring. She stared at the screen, needing to concentrate as her mind turned English into Irish.

Hearing a sound she froze, turned. John had turned onto his other side. Snorting. He fell silent, still asleep. One bare arm flung out of the blankets. She turned back, finishing quickly. Socks sliding back and forth on the floor as she worked. Mind racing.

She stood. Quickly pulled on some clothes, shoes. Converted the data to a flash drive. With a last look at John in the bed she left the room. Hastened down the hallways.

* * *

Rodney was sound asleep. Smiling, caught in a very nice dream involving Samantha Carter and a bubble bath when a strident knocking interrupted. He ignored it, shoving the pillow over his head, trying to focus on the last images of Sam in a very low-cut pink sweater she was about to remove before joining him in the bubble bath. The knocking continued. "Go away!" he shouted, cursing to himself.

Moira smirked at the physicist's tone. "Rodney? Rodney, I need your help!" she called. Knocked again. "Rodney!" she snapped, trying to imitate John's strident tone.

"Go away! I...oh...wait...Moira?" Rodney got out of the bed. Stumbled to the door and opened it. Rubbed his eyes. "Moira? Are you okay?" His gaze took in her loose hair, green t-shirt and khaki slacks.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Rodney, to disturb you at this late hour but I need your help. I need you to send a data burst." She tried not to smirk at his appearance. Short hair sticking out at every angle. His messy gray t-shirt with the legend _I'm With Genius_ and an arrow pointing up. A pair of white boxer shorts.

He blinked. "Huh? A data burst? At two in the morning? Where? To whom? Can't this wait until after breakfast?"

"No. Sorry. I need to send this ASAP. Through the, through the anomaly. To the colonel." She waited. Glanced up and down the hallway.

"The...whoa, whoa, no." He held up a hand. "No way, Moira. I can't."

"You mean you won't."

"I mean I won't," he agreed. "John will kill me. So no."

"Rodney! Please! I need you to help me with this! I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Vital! We need to send this message ASAP! It contains vital information about the Wraith and their DNA and their RNA and maybe even a way to find their breeding ground, the source to–"

"John will kill me," Rodney repeated sourly.

"So you can't do it. Fine, I'll just ask Radek to–"

"I can do it! I just...oh, very clever. Play to my vanity. Moira, John will kill me. He will–"

"Rodney, please!" Moira touched her abdomen a moment. Luring his eyes there briefly. "I wouldn't ask if this wasn't important for both of our realities. They are fighting for their lives in that reality. The colonel. The other Rodney McKay. Please. I've gone as far as I can in this, and their biologists can go farther, since they are more advanced. Please." She touched his arm.

He hesitated. Saw the sincerity in her brown eyes. The depth of emotion, of the rich brown color tinted with flecks of gold. Saw how John had fallen so utterly under her spell. The subtle touch of her abdomen reminding him she might be carrying John's child. John's wife, asking for help. Even though he knew John would have strenuous objections. "Fine. Give me a minute to put on some pants."

"Yes, please do," she smiled. He scowled at her, retreated to his room.

Moira waited. Glancing up and down the hallway. Clutching the flash drive like a talisman, a charm. She relaxed as Rodney joined her, tan pants and shoes covering his skinny legs and feet.

"Thank you, Rodney."

"Don't thank me yet. I trust you'll put a good word in at my execution?" he quipped as they hastened to the control room.

* * *

John stirred. Rolled. Reaching, reaching. Fingers grasping empty blankets. He opened his eyes. Instantly awake as the absence of Moira struck him. "Moy?" He sat. Looking round the empty room. Listened. Heard nothing but the sound of the waves whispering from the pier. He sighed. Got out of the bed and crossed to his room. Wondering where she had gone.

He dressed quickly, checked his holster as a thought surfaced. But the gun was still there. He relaxed. Not putting it past her to approach Susan, gun in hand again. He debated. Debated. Finally left his room and strolled the corridors. The bio lab was empty. All of the computers powered down. Screens blank. Microscopes abandoned. Books were piled onto one desk. Curious, John approached. Perused the titles, ranging from paleontology to genetics to sociology. He shook his head.

The cafeteria was deserted as well. Quiet, except for the humming of the refrigeration units. He paused, half tempted to grab a beer, but decided against it as a slight tingle in his head reminded him of the awful hangover he had experienced. He exited. Nodded at a marine. The city was peaceful at this hour. The sounds of the ocean all around. Dim lights reflecting off the blue walls and the bubbling water decorations.

He finally strolled into the control room, expecting it be vacant at this hour. But it wasn't. Two people sat side by side, each working on a computer. He neared quietly, scowling.

Rodney was sitting at a console, the amber glow bathing him as he typed. "Okay."

Moira sat next to him, at a similar console. "Just a sec. I want to be sure I have this translation right. Okay. Transferring to yours now. How long will the compression take?"

"Only a few seconds. What the hell? Is that more Gaelic?" Rodney asked, staring as the language filled his screen. Before he typed a command and began to encode it.

"Yes. Just in case. Use the same encryptions he did."

"Yes, I figured as much."

"Transmit."

"Belay that."

Moira looked over, gasping. Rodney nearly jumped out of his chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard. John's quiet, stern voice breaking in on them like a shout in the deserted room. "Um, John, we...I..."

"No. Wasn't I clear, Moira?" he asked, moving to her. "I said no. No! Rodney, delete all that data and do not transmit."

"John! Rodney, wait!" She turned to her irate husband. He looked delicious. Hair wild. Black t-shirt and gray running pants rumpled. Jaw shadowed by stubble. He was angry, but so sexy. "John, please. This is vital information. About the Wraith. Here and there. He needs this, John. He sent us a warning, remember? At the very least we can return the favor. Do this."

"You. He sent a warning to you. For you," John corrected quietly. "I said no. Rodney, delete that data and do not transmit–"

"No! Rodney, wait!"

Rodney's fingers were frozen above the keyboard still, as he looked from one to the other.

"Rodney, I gave you a direct–"

"So did I. John, please! Look. I'll let you read the entire message. The translation, in full. See?" She brought it up on her screen. "It's all about the Wraith, the DNA, the RNA, the proteins. Vital information. Migratory patterns that might lead to the breeding ground, remember? He needs this, John, even more than we do. Read!"

He smirked a moment at her imperious tone. Stepped behind her. Rested a hand on her shoulder as he scanned the data. The science filling his head, blurring with words and familiar concepts she had presented before. But some things were new, and he realized she would have to explain it to him later. He scanned it again. Frowned. Fingers firm on her shoulder. "Take care."

"What? Oh." She felt a blush at the last two words. The harmless salutation that was not quite as harmless as she had believed, judging by the way John's fingers momentarily tightened on her shoulder. His step closer to the back of her chair. "It's nothing, John. Please. You can see the importance of this. Rodney, tell him."

"Oh no. I'm not getting into the middle of this!" Rodney refused. He sat back, flexed his fingers. "I'll just wait until you reach a mutual decision. Do I have time for a snack?"

"No!" they both flared, eyed each other.

"Delete that." John was determined. Insistent.

"No," she refused. Stubborn. Turned back to the screen. "John, please. He needs this information. I can't do more, but their advanced science can. It's just a note slipped under the door. That's all. He needs this, John. He has lost so much. He...he has nothing. Nothing now, but this. This fight for survival."

"And whose fault was that? His. He lost his Moira. He lost his city. It has nothing to do with us, Moira. Not a damn thing! We are done with that reality once and for all!"

"Even so, John...he did send us a warning. We can at least do the same. Nothing more."

"And then what? He'll send another, and then you will, and soon you two will be the best of penpals? Hell no!"

"No," she agreed, voice a soft calm to his rising anger. The current of jealousy underneath. "He won't send one. Nor will I. I don't want to contact him again," she assured. "You, you have to trust me, John. Please."

He considered, meeting her gaze as she turned in the chair to look at him. Steeled himself against the emotion in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Moira, but no. I can't risk it. I don't want any contact with that reality. With him. As much as I might be slightly sympathetic to his situation, I won't risk our world for his."

She took his hand. Caressed his fingers. "John, please. He has nothing. You...you have everything. You have the city. You, you have me." She placed his hand on her abdomen as she turned back to the computer screen. A blush coloring her cheeks. "You, you have this...if not now you will eventually so, so...please, John. Please." She waited, but he was silent. "Rodney, transmit."

"John?" Rodney asked.

John was gently pressing his hand against Moira's abdomen, as if he could feel if there was a baby there. A new life they had created from their passion, their love. A baby they hadn't planned, but might be there nonetheless. A baby he would welcome. Suddenly realized he wanted more than anything. A family with Moira. "Transmit," he finally said, voice low. Solemn. Fingers slightly caressing her.

Rodney nodded. "Transmitted data burst...and three two one...there. Anomaly is closed. No energy spikes of any kind."

"Thank you, Rodney," Moira said. Her hand still resting on his on her abdomen. "Thank you, John. It was...it was the right thing to do."

"Yeah...maybe. I did it for you, Moira. You." He had realized she was right. Unlike his darker counterpart he did indeed have everything. He had the city. Atlantis was safe, strong. Defensible. His friends and colleagues alive and thriving in the city, in the Pegasus galaxy.

He had Moira. His wife, his lover. His Moira. Despite all they had endured they were still together. Despite their dark, tragic pasts and the mistakes each had made. Their love was strong. Their passion stronger. And nothing would ever change that. Nothing.

He might even have a child on the way. His child. Hers. The thought was staggering and exhilarating all at once. He knew one thing for certain.

Nothing would ever endanger their child. Nothing.


End file.
